Shaken
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: The Evans family has been left on their own. The question is, will they learn to stand up again after their world has been brought crashing down upon their heads? Series of prompts based on the 30 Days of Drabbles. Mild language.
1. Beginning

**Hello everyone. I watched 3:10 to Yuma the other night for the first time and absolutely fell in love with it. So, I have decided to use the 30 Days of Drabbles from Tumblr and write a 30 chapter fic (though they won't be drabbles) on the Evans family dealing with Dan's death. Because that was heartbreaking, man. I cried. I'm not ashamed. **

**Anyways, our first prompt is 'Beginning' **

**Disclaimer: I don't own 3:10 to Yuma or these characters or these prompts. **

Deep down inside, she knew it wasn't going to end well.

Of course, she hoped and prayed and pushed back the worry that niggled at the back of her brain, telling her that her husband and oldest son were going to die and leave her alone on a failing farm with a sick child. No good could come of escorting a criminal like Ben Wade to a train that would take him to prison, when he had such a ruthless gang behind him. Still, she pushed it away and said a few extra prayers on behalf of her family, and told Mark that everything would be fine, that in a day or two the absent family members will return.

So when, on a blistering afternoon three days after they've left, she hears Mark yell, "Ma! They're home!" her stomach drops in relief and her knees threaten to collapse. She reaches out a hand to steady herself against the table where she has been kneading bread as a sweat breaks out on her forehead, and she thanks God for bringing them back safely. But as she wipes her forehead with her apron, she hears an uncertain, "Ma?"

"Comin'," she answers, hurrying to the door, where in the distance she can see two men and a horse pulling a wagon approaching. One is distinctly Will, but she can tell the other is definitely not Dan. Oh, Lord, please let him be sitting in the wagon, whole and healthy. Please, Lord.

"Ma, that's not Pa," Mark whispers, his small hand finding hers. "Ma?"

She squeezes his hand in reply and looks down at him with a smile, though inside her stomach has a stampede of cattle hurtling through it. "Go inside for a min'te, Mark, 'n I'll get you in a second."

"But Ma-"

"Mark." This was a no-nonsense voice, the type of voice Mark knows to be business. So with a sigh, he turns to go inside and peer out through the tiny window.

Alice draws in her breath, gathers up her skirts and begins to run towards the approaching men. As he catches sight of his mother, William urges his horse into a gallop, leaving behind his companions. They move towards each other, faster and faster, until William reins in his horse sharply and throws himself off its back, landing clumsily next to his mother. He fights upwards, dust swirling in clouds around them, as she gathers him in her arms. He clings to her, only able to babble words over and over again. "I tried Ma I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I tried I tried so hard I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I tried I tried I'm so sorry Ma," over and over again as she buries her face in his hair and kisses him repeatedly, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears of relief and grief that threaten to spill forth.

"Shh, shh, shh," she croons as they rock back and forth, standing in the middle of their ranch in all its dusty glory. That wretched Mr. Butterfield, who started all this, approaches and stops respectfully, letting mother and son have their moment in peace.

They break apart after a few minutes. Alice uses her thumb to wipe away William's few tears that have escaped down his cheeks, her brow furrowed.

"Ma," he starts, then his throat seems to clog up and he has to duck his head. He fights for words for a few seconds before he can continue. "Pa didn't...Pa's...Pa's dead, Ma."

She bites her lips and pulls him into a hug once again, eyes filling with tears, but she keeps them back for all their sakes. Mr. Butterfield dismounts off his horse and approaches her. "I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am," he tells her, his hands wringing the brim of his hat nervously. She plants a kiss on William's head, then releases him before brushing past Mr. Butterfield. She is unable to speak to the man, and instead of acknowledging his condolences goes to the wagon. Her hand presses itself to her mouth as she sees a black, wooden coffin set in the back, sturdy, simple, and horrible. It has two doors that make up together cover, one attached on all four sides and one not, with hinges on the inside edge. She hesitates a moment, her hand trembling, before she unhooks the clasp and looks inside.

It's Dan's beautiful, familiar, careworn face, the thing she hoped and wished and prayed it wouldn't be. It's covered in dirt, and still streaked with blood, though she can see where William presumably tried to clean it off, but no less perfect. Her chin trembles as her fingers reach up to touch his chin, then his nose, his closed eyes, his forehead, his hair. She bows her head and rests it on his cold flesh, closing her eyes and willing him to pop awake and pull her into a hug. But he doesn't. It's a vain hope. So she presses her lips to his forehead, just like she used to do, draws in a shaky breath, and lifts up her head as she closes the cover.

"Thank you, for bringing them back," she manages to tell Mr. Butterfield. "I'm much obliged."

"It was a promise, Mrs. Evans, and I like to think I'm a man of my word," he answers gravely. "I've also given your son 1,000 dollars in cash. And after I leave here, I'm going to go up to town and straighten out your land issue. The railroad will never have this place, I can assure you."

Her mouth opens and works slightly. How can..how can this be?

"It's a debt that must be paid, Mrs. Evans," he tells her. "And I mean to pay it." And with that, he places his hat on his head, tips it, and hops onto his horse. They are still watching as he disappears over the dirty land.

It is quite a few minutes later before she turns to William. He bites his bottom lip and stares at his father, unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse. She places a hand on his shoulder, then takes the reins in her hands and leads the horses back to the house. Will walks numbly beside her, neither of them able to say anything.

And as they approach the house, and Mark appears at the door, running as fast as he can to hug his brother, she knows that it's the beginning of a life she could has hardly dared to dream about...

But also that of her worst nightmare.

**I hope you enjoyed it! I'll be doing the prompts from different views of the family, not jut Alice. Please review and tell me what you think! **


	2. Accusation

It's been two days. Two days, in which his Ma has gone about stone faced and quiet. She's been making funeral preparations and receiving well-wishing callers, trying to keep the ranch going an' the cattle healthy as well as the horses at the same time as caring for her boys. William helps too, but every once in a while he'll sneak out to the barn and not be seen from for a while, coming back with a swollen nose and puffy eyes.

It worries Mark that it don't happen with Ma.

It's been two days, and the funeral is over. It was a small event, with just some of the folks from church coming. The preacher said a few words, and Pa was buried on a hill overlooking the house. Mark likes to think that it's what he would have wanted, but he knows it's not true. Pa hated the dry land they lived on. And Mark knows it's his fault, but he tries not to think about it. All he focuses on is swallowing the tears that threaten to come trickling out of his eye and staring at the small, simple headstone that adorns the plot of dirt.

Almost everyone has left, now. There's just a few more folks for Ma to talk to, so Mark can move away an' think about Pa for a minute. He don't want to, but his mind just can't stop. Ever since he ran outside to see his Ma pulling a wagon with a coffin in it, he ain't been able to stop. His throat has a lump the size of Kentucky and his heart a crack bigger 'n Texas.

He hears footsteps behind him, and a hand is placed on his shoulder. Mark doesn't bother to look up. The person doesn't speak for a few moments, but when they do, it's revealed to be William.

"It ain't right," he says. "He shouldn't be here...he should be out where it's windy and you can see the grass whip f'r miles, 'n...not here."

Suddenly an unbearable anger rises up in Mark. If Pa shouldn't be here, then why didn't William save him? That was why he left, wasn't it? That's why he left him and Ma alone on the ranch to try and fend for themselves, right? So why is he over there acting like he's all holy and sad and pitiful? It's Williams's fault his Pa's dead. He should have done something, anything! He should have stopped the man from shooting Pa! He suddenly feels an unholy hate for his older brother, and it's impossible to hold in.

"Why didn't you help 'im?" he whispers, anger thinly veiled.

That stops William. He glances down at Mark. "...huh?"

Mark swallows and repeats, "Why didn't you help Pa? Huh?"

William steps backwards. "I-I don't-"

"That's why you left, ain't it? That's why you followed him, right? So why is he..." Mark has to stop and swallow the ungodly-sized lump that has arisen in his throat before he can talk again. "Why is he dead, Will?"

"I-I don't..." Will licks his lips, surprised by Mark's unusual fierceness. "Mark, I tried-"

"That ain't enough, Will!" Mark bursts out. "Is trying gonna bring Pa back?! You shoulda tried harder! You-" He pauses to scrub away the tears that start to streak down his nose. "It's your fault," he breathes hotly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What?"

"It's your fault he's dead!" Mark screams at his older brother, erupting in a fiery ball of grief and anger. "It's your fault! You shoulda done somethin'! Anythin'! You just let 'im die!" Then a terrible thought strikes, almost too terrible to voice aloud, so of course he must. He blurts out, "You wanted 'im to die, didn't ya?"

William staggers backwards at this horrible accusation, too stunned to reply before Mark continues on.

"You did! You hated 'im! So what, you just watched them shoot 'im?! Just let 'im die?" Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and he jabs his little finger in the direction of the grave. "Are you happy now?"

William grabs Mark by the shoulders, holding him with an iron grip. "Listen here, I did no such thing, now you put-"

"You did!" The savage, hoard cry rips from his throat as his small fists begin to pummel William's torso, connecting with a fury William has never seen from him before. "You did, you did, you did! I know you hated Pa, I know, so why-" His sobs interrupt him, but he continues berating his brother, screaming insults and accusations and swearing at him that William finally cracks and begins to shake him savagely.

"Stop it!" he hollers, shaking Mark like a rag doll. "Stop it right now, you hear?! Stop i-"

But suddenly, Mark's frame is wracked by a coughing fit brought on by the shaking and sobbing mixed with his ever-present tuberculosis. William quickly releases him, and Mark doubles over in agony as his breath is stolen by the spasms in his body. William hunches by him, pressing a hand on his back, all anger evaporated as he focuses on helping Mark.

The coughing eventually subsides, leaving Mark in a shivering, crying heap on the ground. William gathers him in a hug, and Mark doesn't argue, all fight gone from him. He weeps into Williams's chest, covering the fabric of his shirt in tears and snot as his older brother holds him close. He serves as a barrier against the whirlwind thoughts banging the inside of Mark's head, taunting him, shrieking at him, making his head pound. They say that if Mark hasn't been sick, they wouldn't have come here. They wouldn't be losing the farm. They wouldn't have needed the money.

The accusations scream at him that it is all Mark's fault.


End file.
